Chapter Ten

Ash never counted the hours at night. Such a task was useless to a man at war with slumber. Eventually, however, in soft, almost imperceptible stages, muted light illuminated Lady Stone. She slept the sleep of the innocent—deep and untroubled, her long, even breaths restorative and content.

The contrast to his own restless slumber felt like yet another warning.

Carefully sliding from the bed, he crept toward his retiring room and began his morning ablutions. He peered into his mirror, astonished.

He looked almost human. Almost like an unhaunted man.

She could make a broken man whole, just by standing by his side.

He splashed cold water against his cheeks, trying to shake the sense he’d found something he hadn’t known was lost. Danger lurked in such feeling. Tomorrow, she must go.

He finished washing and then glanced to the door. His morning ride was an unbroken tradition. He glanced back to the bed—one more day. There was no contest.

He slid back into bed. She hardly stirred.

Lady Stone.

The hard name did not fit her at all. She was a multi-petaled flower, each layer sweeter than the one that had come before.

What more awaited discovery? She’d already overwhelmed every sense he possessed.

They’d had two glorious nights. Nights that had been everything he had hoped for from the moment their eyes had locked.

What a fool her husband had been.

The countess, of course, had left kings tongue-tied. Even queens mimicked her style. But the countess could not have rendered Ash so completely undone. No one could. No one but Lady Stone. She had given him back pain and pleasure, fear and anticipation.

Would it be such a terrible thing if he just...kept her?

He could send away the carriage, and lock the doors. He could keep her confined the way he kept himself aloof, and perhaps they could both remain shielded from the gloom.

She’d be his Persinette, his lady in the tower. And like the witch who’d imprisoned Persinette, he’d provide her with every luxury. Food, books, musical instruments. Any instruction she’d desire, too.

She could be happy.

She could be his.

Perhaps she’d escape Rachel’s fate.

Perhaps not.

Rachel had been chosen for him by his godfather, plucked from the flowers at Almack’s for her pedigree and poise...and for the fact that her family was desperate enough to consider marriage to the heir of a duke once charged with murder. He’d been dazzled by her beauty. Hopeful with a creature of such refinement by his side, he could restore the family name.

On their wedding night, Rachel had come to him dutifully...and then left in tears, her chest heaving with vitriol. He’d mauled her like an animal, she’d said. She could not stomach his tainted touch. And that hadn’t been her worst, or only, accusation.

Another memory intruded, unbidden—Rachel, on the terrace of Wisterley, telling him she hated him as she’d never hated anything before. Telling him he’d ruined her life when he’d brought her to the cursed castle, that she’d rather be dead than married to him.

Less than a fortnight later, she was—along with the father he’d loved and despised in equal measure.

Lady Stone stirred, releasing him from his thoughts. He planted a kiss on her shoulder. Even her skin was sweet.

“Mmmm,” she responded.

Carefully, he brushed the hair from her face. “Good morning, Lady Stone.”

Dream’s mist cleared from her eyes. “Alicia,” she whispered. And then, she smiled.

An unfamiliar feeling entered his heart—light and heady, as if he were galloping free.

“Alicia.” He tested the name. The consonants spilled over his tongue. Alicia.

Now he understood why she had, at first, refused to call him Ash. The gift of her name was more intimate a gesture than anything they’d yet shared.

Too intimate.

He’d pleasured Lady Stone. He could remain thankful, even devoted to Lady Stone from afar. But Alicia? Alicia was someone he must gather up close and protect.

A discordant note clanged in his soul.

The best way he could protect Alicia was to let her go.

“Good morning, Ash.”

He gathered her into his arms and held tight.

“Ah, Ash,” she sighed.

How could a single sigh transport him from despair to—what was that word? Was there a word for feeling all would be right with the world?

She pulled away. Her lids swept down as her cheeks pinked. “I require a bit of privacy.”

“Of course.”

He set her free. Reluctantly.

She glanced back half way across the room, her shy, sweet smile more dangerous than a primed pistol. Then, she disappeared into the adjoining chamber, but not before nervously adjusting her shift.

Why was she nervous? She was utterly perfect. She’d always be utterly perfect. At least, to him. He settled back into the pillows, propping his head on his arm.

The child of a madman, even a madman with a ducal title, was bound to be lonely. His father had never harmed him, but he thought it wise to act as everyone else in the household did and keep out of his father’s way.

Alone in his chambers, he’d taken comfort in sounds of human activity—cleaning, brushing, polishing...the clank of dishes, the swish of a gardener’s scythe. But this was the sound he had longed for—the sound of someone for whom he cared, going about a trivial occupation. Life, shared.

His chest pierced—the price he’d have to pay for the return of his feeling. But his three stolen days were not over.

She emerged with another, private smile.

Not in the least.

“Will you ride this morning?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her face fell.

“Come here, Alicia.” Lud, he liked to say her name. He said it again, “Alicia.” He drew her toward the bed. “Alicia.” He tumbled her onto the mattress and kissed her until she pleaded for breath.

“I needn’t leave the room for the ride I have in mind.” With a crude push of his hips, he showed her what he meant.

“You,” she said, with a deep-throated giggle, “are a wicked man.”

“I want to ride,” he said, “and I want—” He stopped.

Dare he reveal what he wanted?

He wanted to bring her to the edge of reason, to show her the outward limit of his sensual imagination—not to debase, but to deepen.

She touched her lips to a spot beneath his jaw. Then, she whispered, “What do you want, Ashbey?”

Lust and invitation filled her voice.

Thus far, their desires had been in accord. No doubt, she’d follow his lead—right into the heart of the desires he’d vowed to conceal.

“What I want isn’t done,” he spoke honestly. “Not with fine ladies.”

She considered him for a long time. “I am not a fine lady.”

He searched her eyes for hesitation, but found only trust. One by one, he drew her hands above her head and then pinned her wrists beneath his palm. She was not in the least afraid.

“I want to ravage.” His voice cracked.

“Ravage? You’ve already thoroughly plundered.”

“You think you’ve been plundered?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Not.” Her forehead. “Even.” Her ear. “Close.”

“Would just any woman do?” she asked, breathless.

His throat dried. “No.” This wasn’t a game. Not this time. “May I ravage you, Alicia? Will you permit me every desire?”

He traced her beautiful, expressive face, waiting like a coiled snake for her reply.

The sharp-edged promise in Ash’s tone daunted. Daunted...and excited.

“Alicia.”

On his lips, her name became a bind that could not be loosened. Not by time. Not by separation. Not by the laws of man.

The gentleness in his caress belied his strength. His grip on her wrists remained tight. If she accepted his sensual demand, he’d reveal the hidden eroticism she’d sensed—the razor thin line where pleasure met pain.

He bowed, resting his brow against her chin. His warm spicy scent filled her lungs, splintering hesitation.

She wanted to absorb all the force he could give, to carry this part of him forever, a memory forged in the light of dawn.

“Plunder and ravage, Ash,” she said. “I offer anything you want.”

Some kisses tasted light and sweet, some brimmed with passion and need. This kiss was a kiss of fusion, a vow for the present, and a promise of everything to come.

He crushed her body into the pillows, securing her with his weight. Then, he took her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue in a slow, aching tease. She sucked in as he rolled the point through his teeth, ending in a soft bite. Desire stabbed, acute.

He released the bud and the chilled morning air dissipated the pain, leaving a residue of heat. Their gazes locked. His was a wolf’s, and his short, swift breath hinted at hunger yet unrevealed.

“Please,” she said.

His pupils expanded, darkness devouring light, but he failed to yield to her plea. His hands manacled her wrists, thwarting half-hearted attempts to be free. She arched, forcing an animal sound from his core.

“If you must move, wrap me with your legs.”

She hooked her ankles behind his back, resting them on the curve of his ass. His hot skin sizzled against her inner thighs.

“Alicia.” He slid his hand beneath her hips. “Alicia.”

His chest blocked her view, but she didn’t need sight to know she was poised for him to enter. She shivered as his member’s tip brushed against her intimate folds.

“Alicia.” He inhaled. “I like the feel of your name.” His cock teased her entry. “I like the sound of other words, too. Common. Forbidden.”

“Oh?” she rasped.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Let’s make a beast with two backs, shall we?”

She didn’t have to answer. His thrust rendered her utterly full. They blended together in a way she could almost taste—sugar and lemon, wet, tart, sweet. Then, he pummeled.

Ashbey. Ashbey. Ashbey. Each gasp sounded his name.

A tell-tale quiver began in her legs. But before that aching pleasure could spread relief through her veins, he withdrew.

“No!” She nipped his shoulder.

“Patience.” He nipped her right back. “You’ll get your due in time.”

She barely noticed he’d released her wrists. Her eyes stung, but her body wept with craving.

Wrapping her in his arms, he lifted. She clung to his shoulders as he pinned her body against the wall. One leg dangled, not quite reaching the floor. His muscle held her in place and his driving thrusts resumed. The only softness she could find slid through her fingers as she clutched his hair.

Glimmers of release shimmered behind her lids. But again, just before the spark exploded, he withdrew.

“Ashbey, please.”

“Soon,” he whispered.

Soon? Involuntary quivers had stolen her strength. She had nothing left to give.

He carried her back to the bed like a child. Gently, he lowered her down.

“Stay, until I say.”

Cool air swirled around her body, raising tiny, tingling bumps beneath her skin. He, too, remained still—a naked man in full arousal, without any sense of haste.

He’d been wrong. Restraint—not power—was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Ashbey was neither at the mercy of his cock, nor her need. He was a pause in a symphony, the calm center of a raging storm. But the hardness in his cheek and the fire in his eyes exposed his latent brawn.

For that look, for that ever-so slight smile, she would yield.

“Kneel.”

She came to her knees.

“Now, lace your hands. Like this.”

He angled her body away, and arranged her hands behind her head.

“Good.”

Fear rippled through her stomach—to be blind to his body was to be blind to his intent.

Could she trust?

The bed dipped behind her, she resisted the overwhelming urge to turn.

He gathered her hair and draped it over her shoulder. He touched his lips—and only his lips—to a spot on her neck just beneath her hands. Fire charred his mark, and then burned a trail down her spine before flaring between her legs.

He placed a comforting hand against her hip. “Alicia.”

She closed her eyes. “Ash.”

He encircled her body and then teased her breasts, coming close to the sensitive points. She wanted him to touch, to roll, to bite.

“I can’t, Ash. I just cannot.”

“Cannot what?” He sounded amused.

“Touch me!”

“Where?”

Shame warred with curious need. He would not force her to say, would he?

He withdrew both his hands. She almost collapsed.

He would not deny her if she turned, and forced him onto his back. Neither would he offer this part of himself again. She wanted Ash. All of Ash. Especially the parts he’d kept hidden until this morn.

“My nipple,” she whispered. “Touch me there.”

He drew her back against his chest. Solace, sweet solace, to feel his warmth. He rolled her nipples through his fingers, grinding his cock against her ass. Visceral tautness stretched between her breasts and that spot between her legs.

“Do you still want?” he asked.

She nodded.

“What do you want?”

“I want your,” she hesitated. “Your—”

“What, love?” Breath grazed her ear. “So many words you could choose.” He nipped her earlobe. “Dagger. Augur. Jock.”

New wetness seeped between her legs.

His lips dropped to her neck. “Brush. Pleasure-pivot. Pump handle...”

She chose the one she’d heard on the docks. “Cock. I want your cock.”

His member twitched against her ass. “Lewd woman.” He traced her spine before guiding her down to her hands. With a nudge of his knee, he widened her thighs. “A lewd woman with a pretty vulva.”

Another full-body tremble. A limited vocabulary suddenly made sense. She was sure to be hot and ready every time she thought of his voice.

He ran a finger over her wetness. “Do you prefer Grove of Venus? Alas, no shiver. Shady Spring? Apparently, not. Quim? Yes, that’s better...” He lowered his voice. “Where should I put my cock, Alicia?”

She inhaled through her parted lips. Cock had been hard enough to say.

“I want you inside me.”

“Good enough.”

She fought the urge to buckle as all his ferocity unleashed. She didn’t care. She wanted nothing more than another thrust, to be caught up in a swirling storm of pleasure.

He gasped out words, punctuated by the slap of their thighs. She only dimly comprehended their meaning, though they left her panting and shoving back for more. Then, his hard stomach touched her spine, and he threaded his fingers through hers.

He shifted their weight on a single arm and forced her hand to her breast, and then further down.

“Make yourself come.”

She may have blushed, she couldn’t tell. She was past mortification and shame. She stroked with feathery touches, brushing him, too, where they joined. She was lifted like a leaf in wind, tumbling through forces she couldn’t see. Tiny sparks touched the inner corners of her eyes. She moaned and bowed her head, shaking in his arms.

He wrapped her hand around his tightened sack. His breath changed, and then he roared.

Even if there had been someone to hear, she wouldn’t have cared. This was a raid, a claiming. There was no place for prudence.

His seed spilled warm into her body, and, in the end, they both collapsed.

She rolled onto his chest, still trembling. His forearms flexed as he held her close. Even weakened, his embrace contained all.

A special kind of awe stole her words. She had been Alicia, orphaned waif, spurned wife, and lonely widow. Now she was Alicia, worshiped, revered and ravaged.

She lifted her face.

He did not look as she expected to look—conquering, triumphant, the mirror of his predatorial smile. Instead, he held his breath, watching her with wary, guarded eyes.

He anticipated censure.

Instinctively, she knew he would not believe if she told him she felt cherished, and, in a strange way, freed. She needn’t hold herself to impossible expectations of purity and reserve.

“Ash?” she asked.

“Yes?” he answered.

“I’m hungry.”

For a long moment, he just stared. Then, he started to laugh. How she loved the sound.

“Well? Are you going to feed me?”

He kissed her brow, and then went to don his banyan. In response to her quizzical look, he explained, “Mrs. Kent won’t be awake for another hour. I will see what I can find.”

What kind of duke protected his servant’s sleep?

Ashbey wasn’t just any kind of duke. He was...

He was...

Oh no.

Ashbey was a duke she could love.

He returned with a plate of dried meat and cheese. He handed her his find. She handed it back.

“Feed me.”

“Minx,” he said to her lips.

He placed a tasty morsel on her tongue. And then another. They sipped wine from a single cup. The heady sensation added to Alicia’s dream-like state. He dribbled the last drops of liquid over her stomach, and then followed the trail with his mouth.

Later, she returned the favor.

Throughout the day’s remainder, they alternated between food and amorous congress.

He introduced her, gently, to new things—binds that constricted her body, but set loose her most sensual side. He trussed her with a crumpled cravat, her stockings, the ties that held back the drapes on the bed. He unlocked her passions, and she held him in complete trust.

When at last the night was dark and they lay exhausted and still, they laughed like children who’d played a naughty prank. She rested her aching body in his arms, and fell into slumber with the pressure of his lips against her hair.